


Wander No More, For the Veil Has Been Stripped

by tarie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 07:54:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarie/pseuds/tarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Behind the veil, Sirius Black is the Seer of All. However, sometimes, just sometimes, All can get a little...overwhelming.  (Tom/Ginny)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wander No More, For the Veil Has Been Stripped

**Author's Note:**

> AU, Character Death (but it's necessary to kickstart the plot)

  
_The veil of illusion has been cut away, and I shall not go out wandering any more._

-Sri Guru Granth Sahib

Being dead isn't exactly a laugh a sodding minute. Rather, it's more like a chore, especially when it appears that he's been Gifted with some bloody nonsense or another. 

Yes, Gifted. Apparently it deserves uppercase, at least in his own mind, as said gift is a large pain in the arse. 

He hasn't the foggiest fucking notion as to the _whos_ , the _whats_ , or the _whys_ behind his gift in death. 

The only notion Sirius Black _does_ have is that being what he's decided to call Seer of All is for the fucking birds. 

Seven years ago (give or take a few months, as he's never been anything close to fucking exact about much of anything before), Sirius fell through that natty, manky veil courtesy a one-way ticket from dear deranged cousin Bellatrix. It wasn't long after he arrived…wherever the hell this is…that Sirius began to hear voices. 

No, thank you very fucking much, he _isn't_ mental. He literally began to hear voices. Voices of the dead. Dead like him. 

One thing about the dead he's since discovered? 

They're really fucking talkative. 

Now, Sirius had generally been quite the social bloke, once upon a time before Wormtail pulled a fast one on him and Sirius had lost everything he'd ever cared about in the span of a few fucked-up minutes. True, he'd become less so as he grew older. But the fact remains that, in the past, Sirius had been one for circulating and chatting people up – and he'd always been sure to provide entertainment when doing so. 

The dead, or at least the dead who pass through these parts, wouldn't know 'entertainment' if it walked up and hexed their naughty bits to their shoulders. 

They're really fucking boring and Sirius is so very tired of it all. 

And as if hearing the wankers isn't shit enough? Sirius sees them, too. 

But the real pisser about it all is that the dead who pass through the veil can neither hear nor see Sirius. 

It's practically like being in Azkaban all over again, only without the happiness-sucking Dementors floating about, dispensing doom and gloom as though it was like candy. 

Spending eternity listening and watching souls interact and knowing no one will ever notice you is a right fucking downer. Even though he is largely of the opinion that most of the lot are dry pillocks about as interesting as a dead flobberworm, Sirius finds himself longing for attention, for excitement, for _something_ to make him feel anything again. 

He is restless. He is listless. 

He is so very lost.

**********

The veil flutters inward, signaling the arrival of another soul, so often that Sirius barely bothers to pay it any mind. Why should he, when he knows he'll never speak to the soul, never be seen by the soul? It isn't worth a single knut to get invested in any of them at all. He'd only be setting himself up for disappointment – and hadn't Sirius had more than his fucking fill of that shit over the years? 

"What the hell am I doing here?" an irate female voice demands from somewhere behind him. A new arrival, no doubt. 

Though she would not hear him, could not hear him, Sirius speaksnonetheless. It passes the fucking time, all right? 

"You're dead, Skirt," he says, laughing a bit because, well, if a dead bloke can't find something to at least have a chuckle about from time to time, eternity was going to really sodding suck. 

"I've Death Eaters and arseholes to hex!" the voice snaps. It isn't as though the witch is talking to _him_ , as no one has been able to see or hear him since he'd kicked the bloody bucket. Clearly she's having a rant and a rave at the veil, which Sirius knows all too well is fucking pointless. Still and all, she's feisty and Sirius likes that. It reminds him of Lily in a roundabout way. 

Raring for a show, as this one is already proving to be infinitely more interesting than most new stiffs, Sirius turns about – 

And promptly gapes. 

A long while has passed since anyone he knew came through the veil. They'd come in large clumps from what he'd learned was the Big Bloody Showdown at Hogwarts, where Harry, James and Lily's son to the stubborn core, had finally felled that psychotic bastard. Moony. Tonks. Fred Weasley, a tonne of others. 

The Weasleys. 

Haven't they had enough ruddy tragedy in their lives already? 

Obviously fucking not, because the youngest, the only girl, is standing before Sirius now, screaming her bleeding head off at the unmoving veil. 

Her hair is unkempt, her face smudged with grit and soot. The cloak she wears about her shoulders is singed and torn near to shreds. Knee-high Tebo hide boots are scuffed and scratched, as though she'd been running like hell through a forest. 

Maybe she had been. She is still bellowing about Death Eaters and hexing and battles and, fuck, but Sirius thought that shit had all ended five years ago. When Snape had passed through, Sirius gathered as much, eavesdropping on the rows Severus had got into with Bellatrix and other rotting Death Eaters. 

Something must have gone wrong. Either that, or some gits who had supported You-Know-Who tried to rise up again in his name to spread his arse-backwards thinking about to the masses. 

Sirius listens to her threaten and curse and scream and cry angry tears of frustration until he can bear it no more. 

"C'mon now, Ginny," he mutters to himself. "It's time to move on." 

Exhausted, she slumps against a stone wall and slides downward until she is a crumpled heap on her arse. 

"I'm not finished," she says, traces of defiance in her tired tone. "Not by half." Suddenly, she rises up and points an accusatory finger at the room at large. "I'm not through and I'll be damned if I let this stop me!" 

There is a pulling in the centre of Sirius's chest, an odd sensation. The first he's felt in ages. 

He is still so very lost, and yet perhaps not. 

With her fire and her spirit, Ginny just may prove to be a beacon. 

And yet, is it worth anything to hope for such a thing? 

Sirius doubts it.

**********

"Hello, Ginevra." 

The voice is soft, so soft that at first Sirius thinks he is dreaming. But there are no dreams here in the lifelessness one leads behind the veil, and so Sirius slowly opens his eyes. 

Ginny is there, hovering by the veil as she has been doing all day every day since she fell through it six weeks ago. 

Sirius doesn't see anyone else but he knows someone has spoken. Ginny's head is inclined slightly, as though she is straining to hear, to discover if someone had indeed said her name or if she is simply going mad from her sentence of death. 

"Ginevra," the voice repeats, and Sirius is somewhat reminded of a snake, what with the way the _G_ is pronounced and emphasized. 

The veil flutters inward and she steps back, waiting to give room to whomever is coming next to seek passage. 

For the first time, light begins to seep through the inky black veil. It is white, bright as snow and purity and yet somehow sinister all the same. There is a flash, nearly blinding in its power, and Sirius blinks. 

When he is able to refocus, Sirius does not like what he sees. 

Standing before the veil, just as though he is a normal wizard who hadn't made life shit for hundreds upon thousands of wizards for more years than any of them deserved, is You-Know-Who. 

Strike that. 

He isn't You-Know-Who. Yet. 

He's too young. He is too young, and yet Sirius knows exactly who he is because he's seen the old issues of the _Prophet_. He's read the books. 

He is Tom Riddle, and he is absolutely intoxicating. 

Sirius hates him. Hates him on sight. Hates everything he stands for. Hates everything he's taken away from everyone. 

From Harry. _James and Lily_. 

From himself. _Regulus, oh Regulus you stupid, stupid fucking twat._

"Get the hell out of here," Ginny says, her eyes dark and glittering. "You have no right to be here." Siruis watches as her fingers clench and unclench. There are no wands here in this afterworld. There is no magic. There is nothing, and yet the body, or at least the vessel, does not forget the need for it, does not forget the feel of fingers curled around a wand hilt. 

"I cannot leave," Tom says simply. "I was brought here just as you were." His lips curve in an almost reptilian smile, a smile that Sirius wishes he could cut right off the bastard's face. "My, how you've grown." 

"In more ways than one." Not backing down an iota, Ginny rounds on him. "Move on, then, if you can't get back to your—your cronies." 

"I have been dead for some time now, Ginevra. And yet, I do believe my memory has been kept alive by some. You haven't forgot me, I see." 

"No. I could never forget you, no matter how much I might wish!" Colour rises in Ginny's cheeks. Sirius can see it and so, judging by the way his brows lift ever so slightly, can Tom. 

"You would never wish to forget me, not after everything we _shared_." 

Sirius's head whips in Ginny's direction. Oh, he knew all about the basilisk and the Chamber of Secrets. But what exactly is Tom getting at? 

"They still don't treat you as an adult, do they? No respect, none for the witch who deserves so much more than the mere scraps those who purport themselves to care about her desire to offer." Making a tutting sound, Tom gestures to himself. "Look at my face, Ginevra. It is the face of a man barely no longer a boy, a man who lacks the respect he so deserves as well. He will not get the respect due him for some time. You could be great, just as I will be, and they will be powerless to resist you." 

Snorting through his nose, Sirius wads up a scrap of paper and tosses it at Tom's head. Naturally, it passes right through, unnoticed, and Sirius curses. "Bollocks," he calls, and boos. "He's feeding you a line of shit, Ginny. Tell him to piss off and let him be." The sooner Riddle shoves off, the quicker Sirius can go back to watching Ginny be the veil welcome wagon. She is much better at it than he ever could be, particularly so because the others can _see_ her. 

But to Sirius's chagrin, Ginny doesn't tell Tom to piss off or shove off or even to fuck off. 

Rather, she nods. 

She fucking _nods_. 

She fucking nods as though she's actually fucking _agreeing_ with the murderous fuckabout. 

"We are the same, you and I," Tom continues, looking for all the world like the cat who's eaten more than his fair share of cream. 

"I hate that about you," Ginny whispers, raising her chin defiantly. 

"No, girl." Shaking his head, one corner of Tom's mouth quirks up. "That cannot be farther than the truth." 

She looks at him in stony silence for a long while. The longer the silence lays heavy in the air between them, the more Sirius believes that she is going to rail against Riddle. 

But when Ginny speaks, Sirius could not have been more wrong. 

"Are you real?" she finally asks. "Or have I gone completely round the ruddy bend here?" 

The man who would one day become the Dark Lord extends his arms in invitation. "Come here and discern the truth for yourself." 

Sirius scowls when Ginny accepts the invitation, walking briskly to where Tom Riddle stands. Waiting. 

She is poised before him, eyes roaming over every inch of him. One hand raises and hovers just over the line of his jaw. 

Inwardly Sirius is screaming, willing Ginny to step back and move _away_. But she doesn't, no matter how much Sirius wishes she would. 

Her hand lays upon his jaw, fingers brushing what had once been flesh. 

"Tom," she murmurs, sounding somehow surprised and relieved. 

Relieved. 

This is a fucking nightmare, Sirius is sure of it. This shouldn't be happening, not now and not ever. 

Even in death, Riddle has a way with people. He enchants them, makes them helpless. 

But Ginny doesn't appear helpless and it bothers Sirius. It bothers him a lot. 

He moves closer, watching them, taking in the way Ginny's eyes glimmer as she looks at Tom. 

Then she strikes, her mouth descending upon his, light meeting dark like the flare of an eclipse's aftereffects. They are worlds colliding and Sirius is lost between them. 

Hands roam over faces and chests and arses as sounds rise to the heavens, illuminating the world beyond the veil in ways Sirius had not imagined. He is no longer lost; he is found. The sounds, they are the beacon he has been craving and he hates it as much as he needs it. He can feel _their_ simultaneous need, emanating from their bodies as though it is nothing but pure energy. 

There is a hot coiling in his belly and a tightening in his groin that Sirius loathes – and yet it is a sensation he is grateful for. He is _feeling_ , something he hadn't done in so long that it is almost foreign. He cannot get enough of it, just as they two cannot get enough of each other. She claims him, body writhing against his, the heels of her boots digging into his backside as the betwixt them is forever forged. 

Was this meant to be? 

Sirius doesn't know, he can't know. But he bursts, he bursts at the same moment Tom does, their cries raising up to intertwine and then dissipate beyond the confines of the veil. 

Then Ginny laughs, a heady and sated sound, and Sirius knows that this is destiny. 

Fucked up beyond all measure, but destiny all the same. 

He feels alive, just as they do. 

He feels slated for greatness still, just as they do.


End file.
